


Objects in Space

by notlovenotalways



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen, post 3x05, post 4722 Hours, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlovenotalways/pseuds/notlovenotalways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After agreeing to help Jemma open the portal, Fitz can't sleep. The punching bag in the Playground helps. Bobbi offers to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objects in Space

**Author's Note:**

> Set post 3x05. Fitz needs an outlet for his frustrations, and I pray that he will turn to Bobbi to help. I love their friendship, and she is the only other person who knows about Jemma's plans to open the portal. Someone please help Fitz. Please.

The morning came, again, as it always did.

Sometimes, these days, _sometimes_ he wished that he would go to sleep and the morning would never come.

He had never said it out loud, but he thought it every morning.

It had been three nights and four days since Jemma had told him the truth of what happened while she was “on the other side.”

Three nights he stayed up, not sleeping.

Three nights he stayed up, his bed seeming colder and less comfortable than it ever had been.

To tell the truth, he hadn’t felt comfortable since she returned. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the dam to break and take himself along with it.

Sometimes he wished it would.

(These days.)

 

 

He’d always noticed the punching bag in the Playground.

Most days, he’d find it occupied, swinging in thin air. Sometimes, he’d spy Daisy, Mack, or Bobbi pushing their fists into it, changing its course, making it move with the force of their hands alone.

One morning before everyone was up, he changed into an old t-shirt and boxers and wrapped his palms around it. He tested its weight. Felt the smooth plastic over his palms. Tested the movement of the object, a thousand calculations running at once in his addled brain.

The first punch was like falling.

Scary and beautiful and peaceful all at once.

The surge he felt in his bones, in his heart, was one he wanted to repeat again. And again.

 

 

On the third morning, his punches grew stronger and more forceful. The bag swung back and hit him in the face. The guttural scream that exited his mouth echoed around the base.

“Fitz?” the answering call startled him from the silence in the room.

Bobbi ran into the gym, brace clicking against her knee. “Fitz! Are you okay?” she cried, running towards him and placing her hand on his shoulder.

Fitz rested his head against the cool plastic of the punching bag. “Yes.”

Bobbi frowned. “You’re up early.”

He sighed, throwing another punch into the bag. Bobbi watched Fitz’s eyes, following the natural swing.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied.

“Mack said you’ve been down here for the last three mornings.”

Fitz turned away from her, walking towards an empty corner near the window. He placed his hand on the cool glass.

“Mack needs to mind his own business,” Fitz replied, grabbing his nearby water bottle and taking a sip.

“He’s worried about you,” Bobbi replied. “We all are.”

A beat passed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Fitz shook his head and put his open palm against his face.

“Not really.”

Bobbi sighed. “I know you may not be ready to talk, but I’m here. Jemma told me bits and pieces. When you are ready to talk about it, I just want you to know that I am here for you.”

Fitz lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. “I told her I would help. I promised her, I gave her all my research, but…” he placed his head in his hands.

“No one would blame you, you know. If you just walked away,” Bobbi replied.

“But I’m not—I could never do that.”

“Of course. We know you only want her to be happy,” she began. “—but don’t neglect yourself in that process. Fitz, you deserve the world.”

He placed his hand on the punching bag. “So you’ll help me?”

Bobbi tilted her head. “With what?”

“I know it will be hard—with your knee—but you are the only one I can talk to right now. About—well, everything. Will you—show me what to do? I don’t know, practice with me? It helps me in the mornings – to be here, not in my bed. Where it’s quiet, but where I have control.” Fitz stuttered, looking down at his feet.

Bobbi nodded, smiling. “I know the feeling. And of course I will help you. Where do you want to start?”


End file.
